Awoken in Cold Ash
by Claude Robber
Summary: Seeing popularity in their Animi Entertainment, Abstergo decided to bring all of the characters to life in order to test both history and candidates to join the Templar order. We focus on a hooked man and his two fellow Assassin friends as they try to understand a ploy and both understand themselves. (Ac3 multiplayer, male/male)


The grey and dark tendrils of nightmares woke the young man up.

Sweat racking off his body, he breathed heavily, panting, almost, as he was caught into a new state of being. A pale hand was brought up to pure-strung golden hair.

Fillan McCarthy was alive.

...

Seeing the succession of their multiplayer and animi avatars, Abstergo sought out to make them real due to the abnormalities in how strong or great they were at fighting. How the avatars came to be were forced family reports of what their ancestors were like during the time and which side of killing they were on (No DNA could be used due to not wanting to search every grave sight in the U.S) and several characters were made. Some imagination and a lot of creativity was used.

Then, after a year from their project being released, an Abstergo member found a body of one of the avatars. Emily Burke's skeleton was found in a mass grave sight off the west wing of Boston.

The chaos that started was immense.

Soon, every last body was found, and some conditions cumbersome. Knives through heads, disease, killed by natives; Fillan's own skeleton was found halfway plunged in a New York creek, his actual hook found under ten layers of dirt and peat.

Abstergo, using their advanced technology of DNA retrieval, managed to create the avatars back again, using several willing victims and some flesh and skin donors. Then, they found several things were wrong from their own imitations of these characters.

Most were in terrible health from the time and nearly all looked different in body and physical aspect. But yet, their history still showed ties to both Brotherhoods.

...

Fillan blinked as he was in a pure white room and in a hospital bed, wires connected to his body and the feeling of restrainment filled. His system was in so much pain that he just nearly threw up but didn't because an Abstergo member walked in, clipboard and lab coat in all.

"Fillan McCarthy, born 1757, 19 years of age during the Revolution, died at age 23 in May of 1780 from potential murder. Your condition found last was of Pneumonia, and severely malnourished, which is apparent now. You have been injected with all memories of your animi life, and your memories via DNA are trying to be retrieved by an outside source. Thank you for working with us." The man read off of a clipboard, before he gave Fillan a checkup.

The young thief was in complete shock at all this, unable to even speak. He didn't understand the advanced vocabulary either. His memories of syntax and grammar were still slowly leaking into his brain.

The real Fillan in comparison to the romanticized version was a serious downgrade. His animi version was this strong, brave, capable orphan who killed everything without mercy and was praised for being a killer at so young. What had actually happened was he was an orphan who would have died in the winter winds if a mentor hadn't found him at once, knowing his parents were killed by a Templar. He wasn't exactly loud as he was more quiet and reserved and he was hardly athletic, only bearing strong calves from running. He was, well, moderately social at least. Fillan was skinny and lanky from never eating and after years with the Assassins, was imprisoned. He was only released after the war had begun and soon his uprising as an Assassin was apparent. Quick with contracts and hard to chase down since Templars doubted a random kid on the streets was talented, he was his mentor's favorite. Soon, approaching his death, Fillan was bestowed with serious disease and a Templar contracted with him seized the opportunity for the kill.

The stories, while similar, didn't live up well. He wasn't too brave and this whole charmer with a built-up body. He was a weakling covered in scars and bruises who went through every living hell imaginable. At least they got his face right, though. Strong jaw, bright emerald eyes, and impossible amber-blond hair was harbored with an expression of pure confusion. He also was rather attractive, a trait he could not complain at.

Finally, Fillan's vocabulary came into his mind. "What?" Was all he managed to say.

Abstergo had injected all animi with the vocabulary expected of their ethnicities mixed with the jargon and terms to the present. Also recordings of the players whom usually played as them gave a lot of good input as to a personal dictionary. In a way, they were robots, flaunting off the personalities input into their systems.

Fillan pulled at the wires at his body before getting a strong hit from the man advising him. "Do you want to corrupt your memories?" He said in a stern tone and Fillan just sighed. He didn't understand anything at all. He was reverted to the mentality of an infant, still trying to learn while at the same time experiencing.

He just closed his eyes and decided to sleep this crazy world off. He needed more time to understand. He didn't even realize he was resurrected.

...

"Fillan, would you be a good son and buy some evening bread?" A brawny man said, handing over a sack of silver and copper to a young, freckled, blonde boy. The boy gladly ran off into the Colonial American town

His small feet pattered down the road, answering his father's direction. The family had very recently moved to New York from Scotland in hopes of expanding the tailoring business. The home was very comfy due to the heavily wealthy sum the family business held. In some case you could call it a mansion.

It even had a fireplace for the harsh winters.

The place to move was based on his older sister Gillian. For some odd reason she had an affinity for the Americas and said she would "finally meet her group." Too young to even realize the trouble this would cause, oblivious Fillan let it slide. He had noticed his sister's odd antics, however. She had cut off her beautiful braid that stayed for years. She also made odd chants to a weird cross in her room. She was secluded and lost interest in making dresses.

Little did he know, Gillian had heard of the Templar Resistance and needed to kill someone to prove her worth. Then she heard of having an Assassin as an ancestor. Well, a killing in blood was good enough. Oh goodness, the sight the boy would see when he came back.

Fillan, do you want your bread with blood?

...

The boy could hardly contain his screams as he woke up in his damned white room. He gripped at his bed, the revolting image of his parent's dead faces imprinted in his thoughts. He was traumatized and his heart raced, wondering why the hell Abstergo wanted him to see that memory out of them all.

Wait, memories.

He finally understood. He was held prisoner to a company. He remembered every human that played as him and sent anguish through his body. He remembered every painful blow made to him, and the simulated artificial pain it caused. He remembered the animus hacks and the pistol shots...However, he remembered being a victor and winning matches and gaining some preferred customizations and upgrades. He remembered every damned nickname he was called. One Direction? What the hell was that?

Soon he found no wires were on him and a chance to roam his own personal room was given. There was a shower, a few towels, an obvious bathroom, and a bowl of (hopefully not digitized) fruit.

In the corner was a set of black jumpsuits, adorned with fake leather triangles and an orange ombre to top it off. A cute little Abstergo symbol was on the cuff, as if to remind you this was their form of hospitality.

Fillan opted for the shower.

His nude body was not complaining to get out of whatever drabby hospital robes he was forced in. As he went inside, he was hit with the most searing hot water you could imagine, as well as some sort of electric shock to his system. The shock was sent to all animi because Fillan could hear screams from the rooms around him. Little did he know, that happened only when someone misbehaved.

Soon, someone in the hallways was throwing a major tantrum so Fillan, being curious, turned off the water and got into his jumpsuit, going out the hall. That must have been what started the electricity in his soul.

He saw a man with wavy brown hair, sharply held back in a ponytail, shaking an employee to get some information from him. He must have been a treasured animi because they preserved his clothes for him. Dark Navy robes accented with white...Fillan's eyes lit up when he realized whom it was. William!

"Where is my shawl?" The French accent said awfully loudly, continuously shaking this man. The young worker just licked his lips, "I don't know where it could be, Mr. Saint-Prix, sir."

William just wrinkled his nose up at him. "If you took centuries to preserve my clothes, I would expect my shawl preserved as well, somewhere, at least." He held a hidden blade to the man's neck and smirked. "It's also 'monsieur', not "mister"."

Then Joe came in to alleviate the situation at hand.

"Will, Will, Will, WOAH, WOAH!" A man with a bandana over his face yelled, pulling him off of the poor worker. He lightly put Will against a wall to make the man run away. "I know they are our enemy, and yes, damn, they are a good one. But fighting them could cost our lives as they know how to kill us! We're Assassins, we're supposed to be good!" That rough voice proved strict, no matter the mood. Then Joe cocked his head over and smiled, seeing Fillan.

"Little Robber boy!"

...

"The whole guild was absolutely devastated you died so young, Fill. I had to take off my mask because I was crying so hard." Joe, whom outlived Fillan for a long time like William, was one of the few Assassins that always welcomed him. The three also became masters at using their hooks, despite three very different social classes. The three of them sat in Fillan's room, comparing damages and memories.

"You were just barely an adult." William added with a smile, putting a hand to the younger McCarthy's shoulder. "Hell, you're still just barely an adult now."

Fillan gave a laugh, pulling his knees to his chest. "I tell you, growing up was never anything I looked up to. I always liked being young, able to run fast, always seen more innocent until I plunge a blade into a patrolsman's neck. Abstergo wanted a young character and I guess I seemed to fit. It's a shame that Gillian made it in." His eyebrows furrowed and he just stared up at the ceiling. "God, I missed you both so very much. I always felt undermined by our brotherhood until I found you too."

William ran a hand through his hair, missing his shawl obviously. Joe adjusted the bandana on his face, missing his old mask that never slid down and stayed in place. Fillan just watched them both and smiled softly. "Well, we can just see what this world holds for us, now can we?"

...

(Thank you so much for reading this. It's rare for me to finish a chapter in literally two days. This idea had always been in the back of my head and it was about damn time until I did something with it. Also the rooms and establishment they are in is basically the HQ seen in Black Flag, except this is a Boston testing office. Hope you enjoyed! And trust me, a ton of fun stuff is coming up.)


End file.
